


Layered Meanings

by angelkat



Series: The Wee Compendium of Sweet Ginger [14]
Category: The Adventures of Puss in Boots (Cartoon)
Genre: Double Entendres, Drama, F/M, Might be OOC, content warning: sexual harrassment, not from puss tho lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28570137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelkat/pseuds/angelkat
Summary: In which Puss and Dulcinea have a conversation.
Relationships: Puss in Boots/Dulcinea
Series: The Wee Compendium of Sweet Ginger [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571299
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Layered Meanings

**14**

_layered meanings_

* * *

Pajuna rolled her eyes when Eames, without even turning his head, absently handed her his empty shot glass of tequila with a quick signal for one more round. He was too engrossed to bother moving. He was busy watching—with unyielding tenacity—San Lorenzo’s very own primetime spectacle of theatrical romantic drama unfurl spectacularly before him (or, to use a less gentler and perhaps more accurate expression, _blow spectacularly into smithereens._ )

At least, that was the direction this thing was slowly thundering headfirst into. Tonight’s episode featured Puss in Boots and Dulcinea, bona fide ‘undefined _friends’_ who have finally decided to talk once again after days of silence and achingly palpable tension, though the long-awaited conversation was not exactly taking place in the most agreeable of circumstances.

Puss looked around him and everyone in the cantina had half the mind to look away like they had their own business to mind (except, of course, for Eames, always the sore and gangrenous thumb that stuck out as the exception to the rule.) The man was handed his tequila, who took it in one gulp and returned to watching the cats like their relationship was the sole thing that made his life interesting.

Puss reeled in the urge to stick a sword in the man’s chest as he pinched the fur between his eyes in exasperation.

“I cannot _believe_ you, Dulcinea,” he hissed eventually, lowering his volume while dearly hoping she could hear him loud and clear. He ignored the way Eames tried to inch his stool closer for better audio. The idiot. “You _cannot_ let that complete stranger stay in this town,” he insisted further. “Not after what he said to you.”

“No,” Dulcinea replied, “I can’t send Carlos away. He has nowhere to go.” 

_Carlos_ , he thought, spitefully, _So they_ _a_ _re on a first name basis now_. She faux-calmly turned a page of her book, propped her elbow up the tabletop, and leaned her chin against a paw, eyes conveniently busy scrutinizing Miguela’s words. “Isn’t that what’s San Lorenzo for? Taking in _nomads_ and _loners_ and giving them someplace to call _home_ , no matter how _criminal_ their actions?”

The inflections made the comment sting more than it should. And also, he _really_ should have thought it through first before he slammed a paw down on her book to make her look up at him. She did just that, fiercely giving him the attention he demanded, but not without the daggers in her ice blue gaze piercing through even himself, in all his leather-bound and legendary glory.

He sighed, deciding it was probably safer for him to be on the defensive. 

“You must understand. I cannot just stand by and let Alcántara insult you. You are treating it like it was nothing.”

It was when she broke her gaze when he knew he said something wrong. She sounded distant, closed off, defensive and in denial when finally she said, “That’s because it _was_ nothing, so knock it _off!_ ” She swatted his paw away and shut her book close. “Even if what he said was an insult—which it wasn’t—I’m not as fragile as you think. I can take it. I don’t need you every second of the day to _rescue_ me.” She made a move to stand and leave.

Puss clenched his jaw as he watched her stomp away from him and towards the door. He, unlike her, did not think highly of Carlos Alcántara, not since the moment they crossed eyes, which was also the moment they crossed swords. At first, he thought he’d been stalking Dulcinea, so without a second thought he’d drawn his blade and had it pointed against Carlos’ throat within microseconds of disarming the fencer wannabe. Puss would have had him prostrated like a worm before his boots and pleading for his life if only Dulcinea had not interfered, which was probably a good thing only because he need not have blood in his paws that morning. After hours of observation since then, Carlos, he concluded, was very much just another Guy Fox, just as smarmy without the haughty accent—he had the mouth of a donkey, fur the colour of turd, paws grubbier than a full litter box, and a backstory fishier than a ten-day-old tuna can. The story was that he had been wandering the Western Desert, searching for a place to reside, when suddenly he stumbled upon the Thieves’ Market and met Dulcinea. Since then, she had taken a liking to him, and invited him to stay in San Lorenzo.

Indefinitely.

It was like the day he and Dulcinea first met, only now Puss had to observe the interaction as an outsider. Dulcinea showed Carlos around town with terrible excitement, all the while giggling and smiling and fidgeting with her fingers, habits Puss was all too familiar with as the female version of flirting. _Flirting_. It took him a while to completely wrap his mind around the ludicrous idea, of Dulcinea _flirting_ with that bastard, but thirty minutes into their little tour of the town when she had her arm hooked into Carlos’ with her leaning her head against his shoulder, there was no more denying it.

He _hated_ the guy.

Which was why red fell over his eyes when Dulcinea declared that San Lorenzo could be Carlos’ new _permanent_ home if he so wished. Puss had insisted that he tail them while she played tour guide for security purposes, and the entire time, he eyed Carlos with perfectly reasonable suspicion. And perfectly reasonable it was. Dulcinea had just been in the middle of discussing something about the orphanage and her classroom and how the town’s real treasure were the kids, when suddenly Carlos said something completely out of turn, something that churned Puss’ guts to gravel—

 _‘Women are not supposed to close things, dearie._ _Quite the opposite._ _’_ And winked.

Puss had no trouble saying those very words aloud right now.

The moment those words crossed the air, she froze on the spot just before the doors—and that was when Puss knew that the insult was definitely _not_ nothing.

“Those,” he said, slowly, once he thought the words suffused the air thickly enough that nobody dared breathe, “were his exact words. No more, no less. Tell me how he had not been trying to insult you, Dulcinea. Pajuna—”

“ _Whoa_ , I’m out of this, laddie. I reckon it’s better to have you two work it out on your own.”

Puss sighed. While Pajuna was wise to quickly establish her position on the situation, he did not appreciate her general lack of effort to make his life easier (…not that he deserved any brownie points with his tab practically bursting at the seams, but still.) Once again, he turned to Dulcinea, and when she finally turned a heel to look back to face him, he made an expectant shrug.

“Well?” was all he could say.

“…Well,” she said in reply, and she adjusted her hold on her book against her chest to stall, obviously enough. “Well. I think you’re making a big deal out of it, as usual.” _‘Women are not supposed to close things, dearie.’_ Her eyes hardened. “It—it meant _nothing._ He was just…t-trying to convince me out of closing down the School for Wayward Thieves.” She summoned a confident countenance, forcing bravery into her words. “That’s all.”

Typical. He’d predicted that she would say something like that, which was why he was prepared to keep his expression stone cold even as her words burned like acid through his gut. To think that she would let that man’s filth slide over her as easily as water slid down the drain—it _angered_ him. Dulcinea was a perfectly capable woman. She was strong, she was competent, she can stand for herself, she can _speak_ for herself. She would not let anyone bully her, let alone let anyone get away with it. It confused him madly why she was not doing any of those now. It was the protector in him. Dulcinea had learned how to defend himself during the time they’ve been together, (something for which he felt oddly proud,) but now all of a sudden she was defenceless—or refusing to defend herself. It disarmed him. It worried him. He wanted to know why.

“No,” he gritted out. “No, he was not.”

Her expression tightened. “Yes, he _was_.”

“ _Dulcinea._ ” He ran a paw up his forehead. Began pacing. Stopped. Finally, he coughed a single scoff of incredulous laughter from his throat, the single best thing he could manage to cough out in the face of the situation. “You _cannot_ be this naïve!”

“Yes, she can,” muttered someone close by. 

“No one wants your commentary, Eames.”

“He was being _nice!_ ” insisted Dulcinea. “Unlike you, he’s open to the idea that thieves are capable of change!”

Eames muttered something else like “Told you,” but Puss ignored him in favour of pressing his point.

“Dulcinea, listen closely. That Carlos imbecile was being degrading when he said what he said. Do you know what degrading means? It means disrespectful. Dishonouring—“

“I know what degrading means,” she snapped.

“Well, you are acting like you do not.”

Her face heated. “Why do you care? What _do_ you want to happen, exactly? So he made a little insult. He doesn’t deserve to get his head cut off.”

“I just want to know why you are pretending like it does not matter.”

“Which is none of your business.”

Puss placed a paw on the cold metal hilt of the sword at his belt. The cold helped calm him down. “If he insults you in such a lecherous manner, he is a threat to your safety. And the safety of everyone in San Lorenzo, Dulcinea, _is_ indeed _my_ business.”

She opened her mouth like she wanted to spit out some venom, but, finding none, she closed it, stomped closer to him so they stood eye-to-eye, and chose not an entirely different path.

“Well, do _you_ know what _you’re_ being?” she challenged.

Unintimidated, unflinching, and unblinking, he arched a brow.

“A concerned friend who dislikes having the honour of his best friend stomped upon?”

Her frustration grew. “ _No_ , you’re being a jerk!” She threw her arms up in the air. “ _Nobody’s_ honour is _st_ _omped upon_ , and I—! …Fine. Just—just _fine._ ” Her tone had plummeted to its more neutral levels, and she dismissively waved a paw, evidently done with him for the night. His stomach dropped, and suddenly Puss preferred to have her screaming on his face rather than shoving him away like this. “I’ll send Carlos off, since that’s what you want so badly. Just…leave me alone.”

At that, he blinked, standing stunned as he watched her storm out of the cantina. It took him a moment to gather his bearings, but when he did he already might have been a second too late, because that was exactly also the moment when Dulcinea realized what she’d just said. _Just leave me alone._ She had never uttered those words in her life, let alone with such spite, let alone to _someone she dearly loved like she never had before_ , and immediately there was a barb of guilt in her heart that made every heartbeat of every second ache. That barb of guilt backed her to a corner, made her more defensive, more walled-in, more disgusted of herself the longer she stood in Puss’ presence, and she wanted nothing more than to run, to shut the world out, to shut her eyes close and sing _la-la-la_ until everything solved itself and everything was back to normal. Alas—

“Wait. What? Just like that?” He followed her, not about to give up, and she inwardly cursed her skirt and her high heels that she couldn’t run from him fast enough. “You and I still need to talk—”

He touched her shoulder and she panicked. “I _told_ you, I’ll send him away, I’ll send him away, just—“ She flinched away from his touch and backed off like a cornered animal. The sight of it made his heart clench. “Just _leave me alone!_ ”

Now, on the other end of the spectrum, Puss felt utterly trapped by her demand. On one paw, she wanted nothing to do with him anymore, at least not tonight or perhaps the following week. But either of those options—or _any_ option at all—seemed like an eternity to him, not a length of time he was willing to spend without her, which brought him to the other paw: he did _not want to leave her alone._

Normally, he was the sort of person who upheld and valued honour and respect perhaps infinitely more than any other virtue one can rattle off from any ancient scripture—honour was greater than faith, hope, or love, because he believed it neatly tied and governed all three. It didn’t hurt that he was also brought up in sixteenth-century Spain, a time where people sought conquest of all forms, whether of land, of power, of an already married woman’s heart; it was a place where the soil was sucked dry of honour by war and savagery, and therefore honourable men came to be even more valuable than diamonds, and just as rare.

He grew up having to defend himself and his best friend from Little Boy Blue and his pack of bullies; he’d been adopted by an incredible mother and lived through a childhood that was nothing too tragic, save for the few lapses life granted only a select few from time to time. But what most people miss from his story was the fact that he’d also been abandoned from the moment of his birth—that abandonment left a huge scar in his heart, whether he knew it even existed or not. Abandonment was carved into himself like it was his birthright. From his very first years, he’d been left to learn to defend himself and be on his own, which would later on fuel his desire to defend the others who didn’t know how to do it for themselves.

He was a typical knight, a saviour and protector, in nature and in nurture; it was written in his heart and it flowed in his veins. It was true—he prided himself a prime figure of his country’s inimitable brand of honour. Nevertheless, contrary to what might be popular opinion, that vain pride was not the reason he valued honour as much he did.

He upheld honour for its own sake. That was why Carlos’ comment ( _‘Women are not supposed to…_ ’ By the nine whiskers of Felina, the filthy way he called her ‘ _dearie_ ’) had him so riled up. Dulcinea dismissing it entirely, not even rising to defend herself, and absently treating her own honour as if it meant nothing when to _him,_ it meant _everything_ —well.

It did not help _at all_ in dousing his ire.

And while he himself would never respect a man who tried to force himself to a woman—or anyone, really—who had already firmly dictated _No_ , he found himself trapped, suddenly standing precariously at the precipice of a cliff. Because _he’d_ just been told _No_ , something that was in itself a rarity, and something—something he couldn’t just accept. He didn’t _want_ to. He didn’t want _No_. _No_ was not an answer, not for him, not now. _No_ was an escape, and he was tired of beating around the bush. He could not honour her wish, and he shouldn’t. They _needed_ to talk and sort this out.

Besides, he had an inkling of a feeling that this was his fault, in some way. He and Dulcinea had talked about…something private, last week. Pajuna called it his Little Blunder when he vented it to her, and as the name suggests, it didn’t go well—because as usual, he, Puss in Boots, Legendary Outlaw, Mercenary Adventurer, Daredevil Swashbuckler, and Romance Extraordinaire, was a Complete and Utter Disaster when it came to communicating his own feelings. Granted, he was still trying to figure out how the blunder of last week was connected to the blunder of now, (or if the two were even connected at all,) but if there was ever a time to try to _finally_ sort this out, well.

What better time than now?

And while he was keenly aware that this entire Dramatic Misunderstanding _might_ just be his fault—after all, this was just Dulcinea acting out, most probably in reaction to that Little Blunder a week ago—he still could not bring himself to say _Please, Dulcinea. Stay. Stay. Come back._ Maybe it was pride withholding him from begging. Maybe it was the fear of being vulnerable. Maybe he was not normally too eager on spilling his heart’s contents for everyone to see. (Or maybe it was the fact that every adult of San Lorenzo was watching their drama unfold like they were gods-darned theatre actors.) But never in his life did he _want_ to just _speak_ , just speak, plainly and simply, without metaphor, than he did now. It’s been far too long since he had last done such a thing, to expose himself so vulnerably, been far too long since the last time he offered his heart to someone he loved. Imelda and Humpty came to mind, and his gut twisted.

He had already lost both. Now he was losing Dulcinea too. She was stomping off, and he was growing desperate. _Come back, please._ But he cannot make himself say it. And just as he’d given up trying to turn this thing around—

“Aye, _that’s_ a pure dead brilliant plan; good to ken yer _finally_ sendin’ the clarty bloke away, lass!”

Dulcinea stiffened, and all heads turned to the back of the cantina. Pajuna took her newfound attention in stride, both hoofs planted firmly on the bar to level herself and staring straight at the back of Dulcinea’s head, just waiting for her to turn back around.

“’Cause frankly?” she continued, neutrally, “I thought it was a wee bit of a bad idea to try and get Puss jealous in the first place.”

It took him several silent moments before her words completely sank in.

And then Puss’ eyes widened.

_To try and get Puss jealous in the first place._

He must have misheard that.

He _must_ have misheard that.

“What,” he demanded.

“What?” the bartender replied, then pointed to Dulcinea’s direction with a nod of her chin. “Ask her. She’s the one who found that Carlos fellow in the market in the first place. She bribed him to the act for the next week or so, just to see how you’d react—”

“ _Pajuna_ ,” interrupted Dulcinea, who had now turned to lock her desperate eyes with Pajuna’s. But Pajuna wasn’t the least bit deterred, and staunchly she ploughed on—

“—especially since _you_ ,” she had turned to Puss now, “pretty much butchered her confession last week when you told her, and I’m quoting you directly here, ‘ _our undefined friendship must remain this way_ ,’ even if that’s completely rubbish—if what you told me about how you _really_ feel is true.”

“ _Pajuna_ ,” choked Puss.

“I mean, honestly!” She threw her hooves up in the air. “I do not ken why you two’re more honest with me than you are to each other. It’s _fine_. Don’t be so frightened, a’right? Just say what you feel, no snakin’ around the bush. That’s the problem, you see? You say one thing, but it’s got double meanings, so the other ends up misinterpreting what you _really_ mean, and then things go wrong from there on, when it really shouldn’t. Take it from me—if you two just try to meet eye-to-eye, you’re gonna be just _fine_. Okay?”

Silence.

Then she sighed. “Look, I’m _real_ sorry it had to come out this way,” she said, looking exasperated and just as sorry as she sounded, “but I had to say somethin’. An’ you two weren’t gonna be honest with each other unless I said somethin’. An’ unless I _said_ somethin’, you two wouldn’t stop coming to me for relationship advice. Well my advice to you now—get out. Talk. I _promise_.” Her warm brown eyes radiated sincerity like they never have before. “It’s gonna be fine.”

No one spoke in the bar for a few long seconds. Puss inclined his head to the side as if to think about it, but after a few significant seconds of gnawing on his lip, he shook his head, sighed, and relented.

“If you will excuse us,” he said, mock-pleasantly, smiling at everyone but shooting an especially pointed glance at Eames’ direction, then took Dulcinea’s paw, ignored her resisting _‘Hey—’_ , and dragged her with him out the door.

Once they reached the destination he had in mind, which was somewhere behind the cantina, where no one, not even Eames, could possibly eavesdrop without pressing their ears against the wall and strain really very _really_ hard to hear, he was reluctant that he had to let her go. He let his touch linger some seconds longer on her fingers, but then she regained herself and crossed her arms. He sighed.

Then scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“First off, Dulcinea. When I…when I told you our relationship was an…undefined friendship—“

She nodded briskly. “I understand. You have a bounty on your head. More mercenaries will try to kidnap me to get to you if they knew who I was to you. I am a liability. A romantic relationship with you puts my life in danger, and because you can’t risk that, we should strictly remain friends. You made that perfectly clear the last time.”

“The last—” The sound he made sounded like he choked on his own tongue. “The last time—what I told you last time were not my true thoughts.” He fidgeted with the hilt of his sword while the other paw worried on the leather of his belt. “I was…trying to rationalize, and Pajuna is right. The truth is, I called our friendship undefined because even I am not sure what I feel about us being…lovers.” He could feel his face heating up, but he did not turn his gaze away from hers. “I will not lie—what I feel for you is a familiar emotion, something I have felt for past interests. But as you know, none of those relationships worked out splendidly, which is why…which is why…” He gestured wildly with a paw. “Well. Let us just say that I have developed an aversion to…serious relationships, so when you said you wanted something more, I—I blew it. I blew it. I was _afraid_. I feared that I will blow this up yet again, and I cannot take that chance, not with you. That is why I said what I said. I know you look to me as some sort of romance connoisseur—“

“You’re nowhere near a connoisseur,” she muttered, but a new softness had crept into her voice, a softness that made something in him pulse and ache and _glow_ , a softness he’d _so missed_ and never realized he had craved to hear for what now seemed to him like an eternity of void.

(Any moment spent without her _was_ an eternity of void.)

A smile twitching on the edge of his mouth, he continued, “—well, perhaps not. But the truth is…all I know about romance is mere coquetry. Nothing about the maintenance. That is the only reason I hesitate in accepting your proposal that we take this to…to…to the next level, as they say. Not because I do not want to. Only because…Dulcinea, I…” He looked her into her eyes, and the mirth was gone. Sincerity poured from his words in waves. “I fear to hurt you.”

She looked at him, as if gauging his sincerity, and when it became apparent that he was unwilling to look away, she closed her eyes. Silence settled afterward. It wasn’t the sort of silence that needed filling, and they let it stay, and the night took its moment. Dulcinea looked up at the sky, pitch black but for the glittering stars. Dust lifted, the wind blew, and it was cold. Her paws came up to rub her arms, and, watching her, Puss had to clench his paws to resist the urge to get around her and put his arms around her to warm her. Then Dulcinea lowered her head to face him.

And on her face was an incredulous smile.

Then she coughed out a laugh, a fist darting up to cover her mouth. The thick sheet of moist that had covered her sky blue eyes gathered into tiny balls of tears on her lower eyelids, all of them finally fell when she shook her head, blinking several times in incredible disbelief. Then she walked to him until they were mere steps apart, close enough for her to reach a paw to brush her fingers against the side of his face.

He closed his eyes and leaned against her touch with a sigh.

“You idiot,” she said, and softly, without the vitriol of earlier and all the affection he was convinced he didn’t deserve. “I’m an idiot too, for assuming the worst. If you weren’t ready, you could’ve just _said_ so, instead of snaking around it and trying to make excuses, because it doesn’t make it any easier for both of us. I can understand, you know. And I’m willing to wait, if…if that’s what you need. But thank you for being honest with me.” She sighed. Her paw settled on his shoulder. “It’s just that…you’ve been sending mixed signals. Not going to dinner with me one night, then inviting me to spar the next. Then when you said you didn’t want to take it a step further, I… didn’t _know_ what to think, because I had a feeling you weren’t telling the entire truth, even though I’m not even sure why you would even be lying about what you felt. Then I met Carlos, and…and I guess I just wanted some sort of test to see how you really feel.” She cringed, self-disgust written on her features. “That was wrong. I’m sorry. I really regret that. You’re right, he was a jerk. It was petty, and I don’t know what I was thinking, and it was a terrible idea, trying to make you jealous—ugh. It was _petty_. It was so, so stupid. I’m stupid. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”

“No, no.” He shook his head and took her paw from his shoulder so he could cup it in both of his. “No, Dulcinea, it is…well, I concede it _was_ stupid.” Dulcinea good-naturedly rolled her eyes, and at the sight of it—never in his life had his heart leapt so high. Sobering, he amended, “But, no matter how petty, ultimately, it led us to finally having this conversation. So perhaps it is not all bad. I just encourage you not to hang out with people with such…” The fur around his nose wrinkled. “…dishonour.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I didn’t expect him to be so gross, either,” she assented. Then something seemed to cross her thoughts that made her realize something. “And Puss, I _promise_ you, him talking to me like that was _not_ part of the plan, okay? It wasn’t really part of the plan to get you mad, I promise—”

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, but he can see why she would think that. “Worry not. I will not hold it against you. To be perfectly honest, I am just…glad this is behind us.”

Content, she squeezed her paw and heaved out a sigh of relief. “Me too.”

“Fancy a short ride across the desert?” he said after a beat.

“With all the stars out tonight?” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I am sure Babieca would not mind.”

“Excelente. But first.” He drew his sword from his belt and lifted it in the air. “Let me personally handle Alcántara’s banishment. I will make sure it _thoroughly_ humiliates his self-proclaimed mastery of the art of sword dancing. He must be taught a lesson or two about what happens to people who _dares_ stain my beloved’s honour.”

“Puss, I’m flattered, really, but I’m not so pure that I’m terribly stained by a simple insult.”

“ _Nonsense_. You are the purest being there is. You cannot even summon a single evil thought if your life depended on—“

“Put the sword away, Puss,” she said, stepping away from him to cross her arms with a casual tilt of her head, “or I’ll sheathe it myself.”

* * *

Inside the cantina, Eavesdropping Eames choked on his ninth glass of tequila.


End file.
